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by Eadwine63



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: could be bromance - Freeform, could be romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eadwine63/pseuds/Eadwine63
Summary: Ezio returns to Firenze to complete an assassination contract. Unable to call the city his home, Leonardo teaches him a new meaning of home.





	

Winter was never Ezio’s favourite season. He much preferred feeling the sun’s rays on his face to the drizzle of snow that sticks to his clothes and makes him feel soaked through and frozen to the bone. He sits crouched atop a narrow ledge, his gaze intent on the doors of the _Palazzo della Signoria_ across the road. The northern winds and wet snow made for a near-empty _Piazza_ , and Ezio wishes with all his heart that he could have been inside as well, warmed and comforted by a newly lit fire. Maybe that was the only thing he liked about winter; the smell and crackling sound of burning wood.

But he has to be patient. His target is due to leave the _Palazzo_ soon, and it won’t take long before he then takes the small, hidden alleyway in order to make the journey home a speedy one. It’s there that Ezio will kill him, swiftly, in the darkness and cold. He imagines it will be a while before his target is found in this dreadful weather.

Being back in Firenze makes Ezio nostalgic, or maybe that’s not the right word for it. _Malinconia_ might be a better fit. He feels melancholic, desolate as if the coldness in his bones is just a mirror for the coldness that has settled in his heart. Firenze has lost all the appeal it might have had in the past, instead bringing detrimental memories of pain and heartache. He can’t imagine other cities in its stead, not with the streets so familiar, the burnt orange of roof tiles so striking, _il Duomo_ ever visible from Ezio’s preferred rooftop routes as the perfect symbol of the city he can no longer call home.

Monteriggioni’s Villa is no substitute for Firenze, and it never will be. Ezio has left the concept of ‘home’ behind him, unwillingly so but without another choice. He feels like he’s always on the move, always working towards a new goal. It would be fulfilling, were it not for the seemingly unreachable end goal. How many has he killed now? Ezio has lost count. How many still stand in between him and his vengeance? The number seems to grow with each time he strikes another conspirator down, like a monster out of the old tales. Ezio’s personal Hydra.

He sees his target exiting the _Palazzo_ and tilts his head slightly, following him with his eyes. The man crosses the _Piazza_ _della Signoria_ hurriedly, hunched over in a way that makes Ezio think the patterned _cioppa_ and fur-lined cloak do nothing to warm him.

Ezio starts to move, quietly and slowly, ignoring his own soaked clothes and the ache in his muscles he knows will pass soon enough. He wants to get this over and done with. The man walks briskly, and soon enough, takes the left turn into the alleyway Ezio had hoped he’d take. He is almost home.

Leonardo once told him that home is a concept not necessarily bound to place, but to people. Home comes with a willingness to return. Ezio thinks that if there was anyone he’d truly want to return to, it would be Leonardo. When he needs someone to hear his stories or treat his wounds, Leonardo is always willing to listen and care. He treats wounds no one else sees. Ezio loves Leonardo for his unwavering friendship, but the truth is he didn’t know what else to call the extent of his feelings for the artist. If anything, Leonardo harboured his concept of home.

His closest friend, Leonardo couldn’t be more different from Ezio. It always makes Ezio feel a little guilty when he shows up on his friend’s doorstep with another encrypted codex page, or with bleeding wounds and blood that doesn’t belong to him sticking to his hands. Leonardo never judges, never questions his methods. He doesn’t shy away or flinch. Yet, Leonardo hates that Ezio is an assassin just because killing isn’t in Leonardo’s nature. Give him a dead body to dissect and he’ll be childishly excited, but he would never take away life just to study it.

Still, Leonardo stays, unwavering despite their differences.

As Ezio jumps down from the roof and drives his blade in his target’s neck, the man barely makes a sound. Ezio guides him down, careful as if it still makes a difference to the dying man. He mumbles a quick prayer and closes the man’s lifeless eyes.

It was over. So quick, so quietly. Ezio thought he could deal with death by now. He could deal with soldiers falling at his feet crying and bleeding. He could justify driving his blades into the men responsible for his family’s death. It’s these swift and quiet deaths in alleyways, these seconds when surprise surfaced in his target’s eyes that still breaks him a little bit, piece by piece. As if he’d killed someone innocent.

With the contract completed, he notices the cold and his longing for the heat of a fire that much more. And if he returns home, maybe Leonardo would chase away the coldness that has infected his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> A cioppa is an overgown with sleeves, worn over the doublet. 
> 
> Also, I have trouble naming the Palazzo because obviously these days it's the Palazzo Vecchio, and I know since when that name came into being, but not when the distinction between Palazzo dei Priori and Palazzo della Signoria was made... So if anyone knows, please let me know. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! If you did, kindly leave a comment!  
> (and if you didn't, you MUST leave some constructive criticism!)


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